


Love Hasn't Any Use For A Trickster

by plastic_cello



Category: Iron Man (Movies), The Avengers (2012), Thor (Movies)
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-11-09
Updated: 2012-11-11
Packaged: 2017-11-18 07:58:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,672
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/558656
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/plastic_cello/pseuds/plastic_cello
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fandral, who drew Loki from god-child to god, was irreversibly devoted. However, Loki was enthralled by a mortal. Eventual Frostiron, mention of Fandral/Loki.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

* * *

Prologue

* * *

The dungeon was dark, dank; it was like what a place of imprisonment was supposed to be. The golden light that encompassed all of Asgard had been lost amid the underbelly of the kingdom; Fandral relied on the single torch behind him as he put coal to parchment. 

He raised his head, drinking in every shadow and angle of the aquiline face that ignored his gaze. But it was companionable; the silence that encompassed the small and wet cell was in no way unwelcome. In fact, he preferred it to what would only be silver-tongued words that could lead any god (or man) to ruin otherwise. 

The god of mischief sat opposite of him; while Fandral occupied a small stool closest to the iron-wrought bars, Loki sat on the cold floor, legs splayed in front of him, and his hands folded in his lap. His usual smirk was hidden in between the stitches of heavy twine, and his eyes were focused upon an invisible point somewhere on the outside of his cell, perhaps dreaming of escape and revenge. 

"You've grown reserved, liesmith," Fandral murmured, running a finger along a harsh line of his drawing and smudging it to create a shadow. "Not so long ago you would stalk this cell like a caged beast, ready to attack if only the opportunity presented itself." 

The darker god cocked his head, his brows furrowing in something akin to annoyance. Fandral smiled and etched another line that would have represented a kindly smile on Loki's face; although no one had seen that sort of phenomenon for quite some time. Loki had fallen from grace, had basked in madness and hate for much too long to remain the mischievous, albeit (mostly) harmless trickster that ballads were written about. 

Certainly he had been victim to Loki's penchant for deception, and no one was more victimized than Lady Sif; but Fandral had found Loki to be amusing. He had always found him to be worthy of conspicuous study, even as they were only god-children and the younger prince hadn't immersed himself in devilish behavior. 

Loki encompassed everything that Thor was not; Thor, whom shone brighter than even Asgard itself, and was kingly and battle ready. Thor was loud and brass, everything in which drew the Warriors Three and Lady Sif; he was a bona-fide leader, whereas Loki was highly secretive, introverted, intelligent and cautious. 

They were like the sun and the moon, capable of co-existing within the same sky but only to a point. The sun drew everyone into its warmness, whilst the moon shunned everyone with its brittle cold. Fandral had been taken with Thor, intoxicated by his warrior's heart; and yet he drew Loki as devotedly as any wanting heart would. 

Parchment scrolls had been converted into bound drawing journals, many of which were filled with Loki's likeness. The small raven-haired god-child that sat precariously at the edge of a lake, bare feet dangling close to the water; the adolescent that captured snakes in the high grasses and spoke snake-speak as if second-natured; and the regal young prince whom followed Thor like a shadow with warmth that had all but extinguished amid the centuries. 

Fandral drew Loki dedicatedly, even though he took artistic liberty in the present. He found it too much to muster to draw the trickster with his lips sewn shut again, with that faraway stare that had seen too much, who had witnessed atrocities that no one could possibly imagine. 

The evolution was a frightening one; Loki was unrecognizable in his fury, in that deep-seeded contempt of Thor, of the All-Father and his lady, of all of Asgard in fact. Loki no longer owned wide-eyed innocence with crystalline irises of emerald; his smile was no longer carefree and mysterious; and his body was no longer wiry and spry with need for adventure. No, the god whom sat before him was darkly indifferent but aware; he was deadly as his throwing daggers and foreboding as feathers from the All-Father's ravens. 

"Thor yearns for you," Fandral lifted his gaze again, pausing in his ministrations. "Terribly so; and yet you deny him your presence fervently. Whereas you allow my presence so readily, when I denied your rule as enthusiastically as Lady Sif, Hogun, and Volstagg; but you hold no grudge against me." 

Loki tilted his head backwards, resting it against the stone; his pallor shone even more vibrantly by torch light. The markings underneath his eyes were darker than the skins' of plums; and blood still ran freely from the puncture wounds about his mouth. He was death's incarnate. 

_You understand, whereas no one else can._

Those eyes spoke to Fandral; the deep ever-green was aflame again, and he knew they spoke the truth. Indeed he did understand the trickster to an extent; perhaps they had grown apart as all had grown away from Loki, but a bond was not destroyed within several years after centuries of companionship. 

He, who drew Loki from god-child to god, was irreversibly devoted. He believed even more so than Sigyn whom sat on the dirtied ground, stroking Loki's hair, and whispering words of comforts like a mother would to a terrified child. 

"Thor speaks only of you; our Lady Sif has grown weary, if not outraged by such devotion. She calls you scum, a mar upon the house of Odin. And yet her angry words die upon her tongue, once Thor approaches in his desperation for you." 

_They are a mar upon my person._

"A trickster hasn't any use for love? Or mayhap love hasn't any use for a trickster." Fandral smiled meanly, while capturing Loki's raised brow. 

_I have your love, despite my insidious ways._

"Do not mistake pity for love, liesmith," he retorted, before lifting the finished drawing to the object of his attention (if not affection). "I have captured your darkness perfectly. It ripples off of your person in smoke-bellows." 

Loki's mouth twitched, the corners of his lips rising in a macabre smile. Blood trickled from one of the puncture wounds, whilst his eyes wrinkled in a familiar merriment that hadn't any place in the darkness of a prisoner's cell. That was not the essence of a dungeon dweller, whom had led an attack upon Midgard and hood-winked his beloved brother within the swirl of treacherous lies. 

This was the Loki of old, if only for a fleeting moment. 

_You've captured me well, my dearest of partisans._

"Your dearest; have you relayed this to your lady-love, who devotedly preens and coddles you?" Fandral turned the parchment around, admiring how well he had captured Loki's likeness despite the abhorrent light. 

_Maidens shan't know true devotion as warriors do._

The inconceivable ache, one in which Fandral had buried underneath outrage and indifference, rose like smoke from the flames of a fire. He had mourned Loki silently, whilst Thor bellowed and brooded publicly for all to see. And he continued to mourn Loki; because this creature, whom burrowed into Loki's skin, was no more Loki than he was. This was an anomaly, a mad-eyed loon that had once been princely and sane-minded. 

Fandral rose from the stool and regarded Loki closely. The smile had since dissipated from his mouth, and those eyes shone in knowing. They were infinite and saw all, mayhap more than even Heimdall and the All-Father; because they saw directly into him with practiced ease, and sent shivers of understanding throughout his body. 

_Love hasn't any use for a trickster._

"The devil either," Fandral uttered in feigned disgust and motioned for the guards to release him from the cell. Once on the other side of the iron-wrought bars, he chose to not look back into the cell and its shadows; because he knew if he did, he would be eye-to-eye with the devil himself. And he could mourn no longer without the risk of losing his heart.


	2. Chapter One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fandral, who drew Loki from god-child to god, was irreversibly devoted. However, Loki was enthralled by a mortal. Eventual Frostiron, mention of Fandral/Loki.

* * *

Life moved on; people adapted to their newly altered circumstances. It was a misconception that humans were less than, small and weak because they couldn't live for centuries, and weren't blessed with radical strength or magical abilities that would shame Houdini. Their strength lied in perseverance; Tony should know.

Somehow he'd survived being taken captive by a terrorist cell, having come close to death by his own damned weapon; even if he was waltzing about on borrowed time, he still somehow persevered and made the most of what he had. And boy did he have a lot; but now he was using the time he had for good, comparably to his selfish and entitled lifestyle beforehand.

It really wasn't surprising that only four months after the events of an alien invasion (not to mention the destruction left behind), that people had picked themselves up by their boot-straps, and were going about day-to-day life as best as they could. They volunteered for the clean-up efforts, threw benefits to raise money for the victims of the tragedy, and just started to live as normally as was possible; putting that shit on the back-burner.

However Tony wasn't quite as fortunate; his focus had been only on the invasion. He'd spent the better half of a month on studying video footage of the Chitauri grunts, and those huge whale-like monsters which Thor referred to as leviathans. But nothing substantial had come from it; SHIELD had taken some of the remains for observation, and well they weren't privy to share any information about their findings anyway.

Truth be told, he'd gotten bored by re-watching the video feed over and over again. Not to mention, that nuke could have destroyed the entire race (or wishful thinking). So the only logical place to put all his brain power into had been to focus on the golden-horned psychopath that had brought the Chitauri onto the planet in the first place.

"JARVIS slow down the feed," Tony mumbled around the lip of his tumbler and squinted. "Okay, excellent; now zoom in by twenty percent. And now…pause it right there."

The video feed paused on the god of mischief, moments before he'd tossed Tony through his own damn window. He scrunched up his face in distaste, maybe in a bit of anxiety which he'd never readily admit to, but studied that long-fingered hand like it held all the secrets of the universe.

"Let's screen-cap that, and let's compare that green energy to the other ones. I want a clear-cut reading on his magical signature."

 _"Yes, of course, sir. Although you have a similar screen-capture already on file; this one, however has a clearer focus on Mr. Laufeyson's posterior."_ JARVIS returned primly. _"In fact there are a total of twelve screen-captures that prominently feature Mr. Laufeyson's posterior. Are you hiding something from me, sir?"_

It took a moment for Tony to drag his mind away from variables and energy sources, before he absorbed what JARVIS tried to imply. He snorted loudly and picked up the stylus that he'd tossed onto the desk; he tapped on Loki's fingertips that were expelling a very faint green light. It was so faint that he hadn't even noticed it during that nasty encounter; then again not many people would have, once they were free-falling from several stories.

"Please JARVIS, have some common decency. There's no way I can even get a decent look at his ass with all that leather obscuring the view." He took a sip. "Besides I'm not turned on by defenestration; I mean how many times has Pep thrown me out the window that you can count?"

_"Zero times that I know of, sir,"_

"And it's going to stay that way, thank you very much," he leaned back in his chair, while taking another sip of his best scotch. "Let's zoom out and play."

The video switched back on, and he shifted uncomfortably as he watched Loki get handsy with him before flinging him out the window. He cringed at that, momentarily transported back to that state of panic; the one where he thought the suit wouldn't catch him before he became sidewalk pizza.

"You know what, why don't you go through the rest of the video and get as many screen-caps of that green energy. I don't think I can stomach seeing Reindeer Games any more than a few hours a day."

_"You've become quite familiar with Mr. Laufeyson, sir. You've studied the video feed for well over seventeen hours, three minutes, and forty-one seconds."_

"That calls for a break," someone said, jerking Tony from his reverie.

Tony swiveled in his seat, glad he hadn't let out a terrified noise by the interruption. Rhodey strolled into the workshop, wearing his crisp and snazzy uniform, by all means the military man that he was.

"Nice of you to let Rhodey waltz right in here, JARVIS," he scowled, swiping his hands across the three screens in front of him. "You know he could have easily been an imposter; he could still be an imposter hell-bent on murdering me!"

_"Rest assured you have programmed me well, sir. Colonel Lieutenant Rhodes is very much himself; although his agenda of murder might very well be debatable."_

"I come in peace," Rhodey lifted his free hand, which wasn't cradling his hat underneath his arm. "Unless otherwise provoked, of course; and you have a way about yourself, to say the least."

"I missed you too, dear," Tony smirked as his best friend paused a few feet away.

It had been a good month and a half since Tony had even seen Rhodey; in between SHIELD occupying much of the Avengers' time, and Rhodey being part of the good 'ol U.S. military there really wasn't any time for a social visit.

"You have quite the motley crew living here," Rhodey muttered, studying one of the newly developed repulsors for the Mark VIII on a nearby workbench.

"Well, the earth's mightiest heroes had to stay somewhere. That's what they're calling us now, you know."

"So I've heard; multiple times."

"I mean they're not that bad to live with. Cap can be an old stick in the mud, and Assassins One and Two can put you on edge; but at least Brucey is nice to have around. You know for science and stuff; science bros." Tony rose and was assaulted by the needle-pricks of sedentarily watching Thor's younger brother run amok for hours on end.

There was really no denying the fact that he was a bit obsessed. Then again once a guy flies a nuke into space and effectively saves New York City, it kind of puts things into perspective. He'd almost died in the most spectacular way possible because of some pretentious Norse god with mental instability up the yin-yang.

But even after hours of constant observation didn't shine too much light on the matter; Loki was supposedly imprisoned in Asgard, light-years away and never to be heard from again. Studying him so closely really wouldn't provide any solid information for future foes, unless they were sorcery buffs with older brother issues, and a penchant for wearing gaudy headgear.

"Pepper mentioned you've barricaded yourself away down here," Rhodey eyed him. "That you've become obsessed with all that video footage that was collected during the _invasion_."

"I'm just curious is all; wouldn't you be?" He raised an eyebrow in return. "Or maybe you and Pep are just feeling neglected. Daddy will put away his work and let JARVIS do the heavy lifting, if it means he can spend more time with you."

"Tony you are impossible sometimes,"

They exchanged similar smiles; they had an understanding which sustained their friendship throughout the years. Not many people got Tony, and he was enough of a genius to realize he was pretty damned lucky to have Pepper and Rhodey in his life; even if he frequently took them for granted with some of his outrageous behavior.

"Come over here and let's hug it out,"

"I'm sure Dr. Banner would be more than receptive to that idea,"

"Hey, Brucey is my science hubby. But you, Colonel Lieutenant are my number one, my numero uno. Besides we've been together for years, and you know my staunch morals wouldn't lead me down the pathway of divorce."

"And all this time I thought you were lusting over a psychopathic god," Rhodey returned, before tapping onto the blank screen Tony had been in front of only moments before. "JARVIS didn't you mention something about twelve screen-caps that were highly irrelevant to Tony's work?"

 _"The file entitled: Reindeer Games contains several hundred screen-captures of Mr. Laufeyson. Twelve of which prominently display his posterior; albeit sir has informed me that they were simply taken to properly capture Mr. Laufeyson's magical energy signature."_ JARVIS informed smoothly.

Rhodey quirked an eyebrow, but chose instead not to say anything that could invoke an argument that would inevitably just be a lot of word vomit from Tony's mouth. He had a few drinks, although he was far from drunk; but even his best arguments wouldn't be achieved after consuming three tumblers of scotch.

However, that didn't stop Tony from thinking about re-working all the personality kinks that JARVIS undoubtedly developed. His AI had been designed to match his sarcasm and quick-wit, and to be perfectly honest JARVIS had exceeded all expectations just like any work stamped with the Stark name on it. So really Tony should be congratulating himself on his own genius, rather than even thinking about dismantling JARVIS for using that sharp-wit against him.

"This isn't really your problem anymore," Rhodey motioned at the screen. "Didn't his thunder-god of a brother haul him off for intergalactic punishment?"

"No truer or weirder words have been spoken, especially by you. The man working for the government, commonly known for hushing up alien invasions and assassinations,"

Rhodey leveled him with an annoyed look, but didn't take the bait. Of course he could tell he wasn't at his sharpest; and really it wasn't Rhodey's style to try and defend his job to a well-known alcoholic (or he'd like to think recovering alcoholic or maybe even social alcoholic).

"I have to admit I'm here because I am worried," Rhodey began cautiously, shifting his hat to the crook of his other arm. "Of course you've always handled trauma differently. Meaning becoming obsessed with something that was beyond your control; I know you're studying this guy just in case he smuggles his way back here. But realistically speaking, that doesn't seem like a possibility."

"I'm not traumatized, I'm just naturally curious," Tony waved away the sentiment, even though it was the truth.

He had reoccurring nightmares, and maybe a few times Pepper had shaken him awake when he flailed too violently; but who wouldn't be a bit on edge after the experience he'd gone through? But it didn't mean he was traumatized and that he was over compensating by trying to dissect the god of mischief apart.

Rhodey gave him a skeptical look, before he surveyed the workshop further; as if he'd find any sign of true trauma on the surface; which he wouldn't find, unless he disregarded that empty decanter on his desk, the half-smoked cigar in the ash tray, and not to mention the crumbled and disheveled appearance Tony was sporting; although he liked to think it was rustic.

"There isn't any shame in feeling that way," his friend mumbled, giving him a sideways look. "And there definitely isn't any reason that you should carry this burden all on your own. Not when you have people who are more than willingly to help you carry it, regardless of how heavy it is."

"Heavy and non-explosive," Tony smirked humorlessly. "But really I do appreciate it; the thing is I just don't need any counseling or heart-to-hearts. I can figure this out; and besides you have a point, Reindeer Games isn't going to come back anytime soon. He's probably already dead-"

 _"Sir, I have an emergency call from Director Fury of SHIELD,"_ JARVIS announced. _"Shall I patch him through?"_

Tony let out an exasperated sigh, while rolling his eyes dramatically for Rhodey's benefit. Any call from Nick Fury had a way of ruining his day; but more often than less he'd be risking his life at the hands of a goofy looking super-villain who was out for world domination, or at least a cheap thrill.

"Might as well get it over with," he flicked his wrist, until a screen filled with Fury's likeness. "Nicky, what do I owe the pleasure? Or frankly the displeasure?"

"Mr. Stark," Fury greeted grimly. "I have some unfortunate news to convey, and since your tower has become the home base to the Avengers, I figured you'd be able to pass the news along."

"Well, this sounds promising,"

"Our systems picked up on a familiar energy signature-"

"Wait your systems have that capability?"

"That's none of your goddamn business. But as I was saying, our systems picked up on a familiar energy signature, one that is consistent to Thor's," Fury continued on, blatantly disregarding the disbelief that SHIELD's technology might have components that Tony's did not. "Suffice to say it isn't Thor's, and well the only other option would be our favorite motherfucking Martian."

Shock wasn't the appropriate description to what Tony inevitably felt; in fact that was putting it mildly. Maybe Rhodey and Pepper had a point; maybe he was traumatized by what happened, because the mixture of fear, panic, and a dash of anticipation were so powerful he thought he might have a panic attack.

He gripped onto the edge of the closest workbench, swallowing hard. Rhodey rested a sturdy hand onto his shoulder, if only to ground him, while Fury pontificated for another few minutes on their suspicions about Loki's return.

"The signature was faint and purportedly pinpointed in the Mojave Desert; we dispatched several helicopters but we didn't find anything. Not even a hint of that bastard."

"Pardon me, Director Fury," Rhodey intervened, moving into Fury's line of sight. "What do you suspect would be the probability that this _bastard_ could actually get to New York City again without being sighted?"

"Colonel Lieutenant Rhodes," Fury said easily, seemingly ignoring Tony's lack of participation. "I say the probability is one-hundred percent. We're talking about a crazed god with a vendetta; and apparently it's only too easy for him to move from place to place within the blink of an eye. We were lucky to even pick up on his energy signature to begin with."

"So the likelihood he could show up at any time-"

"JARVIS, lock down the building, let the others know what's going on; and for god's sake, if you pick up any signature similar to the one I've been going over on the video feed, let everyone know immediately." Tony staggered to his desk, before jamming his finger against one of the screens to play the video that displayed Loki's maniacal face. "But this time…we're not going to play nice."

"SHIELD's order is pretty clear, Stark," Fury intervened, somehow looking grimier. "If you can kill the bastard, well I suggest you do just that. Because this a security breach we cannot let get out of hand, not after all the work we've put into reassuring the public that the matter was handled accordingly."

"Oh trust me on this one, Nick," Tony breathed heavily, slipping on the bracelets he'd been tinkering with some time that morning (or maybe evening). "If this bastard gets anywhere near me, he's dead. There won't be a repeat performance of the Defenestration of Tony Stark."

And no truer words were spoken; he'd be damned if he let Loki get anywhere near him, no less near the people he cared about. He'd taken down the key players of the Ten Rings, so he really wasn't opposed to revenge. God or not, well it was hard to forgive anyone who tried to take over your home planet, while actively trying to kill you more than once. Great ass or not, Loki had to die.


	3. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fandral, who drew Loki from god-child to god, was irreversibly devoted. However, Loki was enthralled by a mortal. Eventual Frostiron, mention of Fandral/Loki.

* * *

Panic-stricken was the only way to describe the court of Asgard. Guards in full regalia stormed through the kingdom's corridors; their intent was engraved visibly on their features – they were on a hunt, which would only lead to bloodshed.

Fandral hurried through a flock of terrified maidens, hoping to find the one maiden who he believed was responsible for the chaos that had befallen the kingdom. Word had already traveled that the ingénue Lady Sigyn had fallen victim to the liesmith's magic; despite it being suppressed by a multitude of wards designed by sagely sorcerers and the All-Father himself, rumor had it that Loki had been clever enough to bypass them all.

But that could be farther from the truth; Loki was indeed perhaps the strongest magic wielder that Asgard had ever seen, albeit there was no way even he could escape his cell without assistance. And by no means did Fandral believe Sigyn was without blame; in fact, he could guarantee she had purposely assisted the disgraced prince of Asgard.

Ladies were frequently viewed as inferior, glass-like and easily impressionable. Lady Sif had broken through those misconceptions on horseback with spear ready. Sigyn was no different than Sif, although her rebellion was masked quietly and veiled as innocent concern for the imprisoned younger prince. But Fandral knew better; the calculation was bright in her eyes, and her devotion to Loki could spur on betrayal on such a grandiose stage as this.

The men who were stationed outside the trickster's cell had been struck with a powerful sleeping enchantment, and had only been discovered after Heimdall caught sight of it. However, it was already too late by the time another fleet of guards had descended into the dungeons. Sigyn had been the only one there, undoubtedly spinning a tale of falling under ancient and dark magic; it was the perfect ruse.

"Where has that she-devil gone?" Fandral muttered crossly, before turning a corner and all but dashing through another wave of battle-ready guards.

Amid the pandemonium and gossipers that dawdled at every corner, Fandral saw a familiar head of gold that stood above the many. Thunderous steps announced the eldest prince's arrival; his usual jovial face was shadowed in deep-seeded sorrow and something akin to anger as well.

The crowd parted as Thor drew nearer; the murmurs had gone silent, which left only the sound of armor upon armor and the dutiful march of the guards who were stationed all around the kingdom. Fandral paused only to bow lowly at Thor's pending approach, before righting himself and quickly joining him by his side.

"Word has reached you, no doubt," he started, but already knew the answer.

"My brother's trickery knows no bounds," Thor returned, making it a point to avoid eye contact.

"As does his accomplice, Lady Sigyn,"

"Lady Sigyn was enchanted by Loki, highly regarded sorcerers of the court have reported it," Thor gave him a sideways glance, although there was an inquiry to his stare.

It was a serious claim against Sigyn; if she was guilty of the crime Fandral accused her of, well she would replace Loki in his cell. The likelihood of it was very slim though; if there was one thing he knew about Sigyn was that she could be quite a liar, although not as gifted as the liesmith himself.

"I have to confess to you, I've frequently been in Loki's company since he's returned," Fandral shrugged half-heartedly, keeping in step with Thor until his footsteps all but faltered.

"You've been invited into his cell?" Thor's brow furrowed while his face visibly darkened further.

"I've kept him company on several occasions, but I always championed for you! I told him of your devotion and love, and yet he would have none of it! You are aware of Loki and the poisonous thoughts that consumed his mind!"

"And yet you've chosen to keep this a secret until his escape?" Thor rumbled, which caused Fandral to flinch.

It wouldn't have done any good to tell Thor anyway. Loki displayed a level of hatred for Thor that was unmatched; while everyone assumed Loki was merely jealous of Thor, no one could suspect how deep-rooted his hatred truly was until the misfortunes of Thor's banishment.

While there was no rhyme nor reason for it, Loki was consumed with hatred for his elder brother; and it was beyond Fandral to prod the delicate subject, considering it was miraculous that the liesmith allowed him entry into his cell in the first place.

One always toed the line while in company with Loki. The unpredictability of his character had grown foreboding, and instead of childish trickery one could expect grievances of the highest order. Even without magic Loki was a threat; Fandral had witnessed the feral anger in his eyes, and the gnarled smirk that was sewn onto Loki's lips as tightly as the twine that bound them together.

"It was no secret, my friend," Fandral said as delicately as he could, although his words were offensive to Thor nonetheless. "I only kept the knowledge to myself simply because it would upset you, as it clearly has done. I know of your love for Loki and to see you denied of the same from him, well I hadn't the heart to sadden you anymore."

"I needn't protection, Fandral," Thor furrowed his brow, before striding through the crowd again. "Although I'm suspicious to know why ever you would want to sit with my brother; you've shown dislike for him for many centuries."

"Falsehoods and follies,"

"So you bear no ill will for waking in an entanglement of snakes?" Thor scowled at the memory.

The trickster god had performed many mischievous acts; many had caused bodily injury and traumatization. Waking in a pit of snakes had both startled Fandral, and ended in many bites from venomous teeth. Had Volstagg not been in the business of waking him for an upcoming hunt, well he might have had been at the feasting tables of Valhalla rather than accompanying Thor to wherever he was headed now.

"I bear ill will, plenty," Fandral ran his gloved hand across his left cheek, remembering a rather severe pain administrated by one of the many snakes. "But be it not better to look for the goodness that certainly resides in the vessel that was Loki?"

"That was?" The elder prince enunciated the words slowly. "Is Loki not Loki?"

"Your Loki is no more, and what is left has festered and spoiled," Fandral pulled free the scroll of parchment tucked underneath his belt; his intention had been to visit Loki again, and capture the carefreeness that once settled between Loki's brows, and the easiness of his small and almost invisible smiles. "I drew this; I think you would like to see the state in which your Loki has withstood since his return."

Thor said nothing, but took the parchment with delicate hands that seemed impossible for such a warrior. They continued to walk as Thor unfurled the parchment, and stared at the harsh strokes of coal that captured Loki's hair which had grown since his fall from the Bifrost. Although what was even more significant to Fandral was the depth of nothingness in Loki's eyes; while still green, Loki's eyes lacked mischief and kind heartedness.

The accurateness of his sketch was not lost to Thor; he could tell by the sudden breath he'd taken, and in the way his body stiffened. That particular drawing hadn't been altered to Fandral's preferences; he had drawn Loki as he was which included the dark circles under his eyes, the gauntness of his cheeks, and that dreadful twine sewn across his lips.

"This is my brother," Thor whispered; but it sounded more like a question than a statement, even though they both knew that it was Loki.

"Aye," Fandral took the parchment away. "And Lady Sigyn has released him. She has frequented his side far more than I have, which is cause for concern."

"I intend on speaking with her,"

"As you should; you and I both know of Loki's strengths in magic, but you would be wise to recognize he cannot cast it underneath wards that were placed by the All-Father himself. So do not fall victim to the belief Lady Sigyn was enchanted; she was only enchanted by love, in which even your brother cannot manipulate so wholly."

Truth be told, Fandral questioned the validity of his own words. Loki could not cast magic under the weight of so many wards, but his manipulation was legendary. Whatever the means, he could employ it for his benefit; love and hatred were perhaps the things he had used frequently to bend an individual to his will. Stronger minded individuals than Sigyn had fallen underneath Loki's manipulation, so really it could be a spell just without the magical element to it.

Thor determinedly quickened his step, spurred by Fandral's words. Fandral followed still, intent on exchanging words with Sigyn, and exposing her enchantment hadn't anything to do with sorcery. And if he were honest with himself, he liked the idea far too much of an impending punishment for her.

Winding farther into grandiose palace, they eventually stopped in the healing ward. Elderly and weathered men in golden robes jostled to and fro, many carrying heavy volumes from the library, while others instructed maidens whose arms were filled with vials of unknown potions.

Upon their arrival, one of the maidens (perhaps one Fandral had bedded, if the flutter of her lashes meant anything) bowed lowly and without explanation led them towards one of the many doors that stood against the corridor. She stopped at the farthest-most door and opened it, bowing once more, before leaving them to enter without unneeded interruption.

The room was brightly lit as much of the kingdom was; white marble encompassed much of the room, accented by gold, and the softest of blues that were almost luminescent. Lady Sigyn lounged upon a bed that would have been suitable for the likes of Volstagg; her golden-spun hair was spread across the linens, and her face smooth with contentment as if her containment was luxurious.

"Milady," Thor's voice boomed and startled the whimsical creature, which brought unwarranted pleasure to Fandral.

The poor thing leapt to attention, grabbing the folds of her many skirts between tiny bone-colored fists. She bowed lowly (even more so than the servant girl), and directed her eyes to the floor as if not to offend the elder prince with her stare.

"Milords," Sigyn said with a quivering voice. "I did not expect you."

"As you shouldn't," Fandral muttered in annoyance. "Unless such enchantments that that devilish liesmith cast upon you has given you foresight as well."

The accusation was evident in his words; Sigyn lifted her head as regally as she could, despite the quiver of her upper-lip and the tremors that seemed to spread through her whole body. That was telling; although one could argue the trauma of such an enchantment would cause such a thing, whereas Fandral believed it was the tell-tale sign of guilt.

For he was not fooled by her apparent innocence; he had spied only weeks ago how the liesmith buried his face into Sigyn's bosom, and the frustrated groan that rumbled in his throat that his tongue was bound into his mouth. And he could hardly disregard how Sigyn welcomed the devious embrace, urging Loki by the fingers in his hair and against the nape of his neck.

Neither Sigyn nor Loki had noticed his presence, and he had hurriedly disappeared into the dungeon's shadows before they grew the wiser. And mayhap that was why he wanted nothing more than the woman to pay for her many travesties, specifically when it came to virtue. For she was no more virtuous than the maidens he bedded after wartime.

"He is a devil," Sigyn insisted vigorously. "He used dark magic against me; I only had sympathy for him, milord. And he used his trickery against me!"

"How could Loki use dark magic whilst hands bound and suppressed, and wards of ancient surrounding his cell?" Thor asked without accusation, although suspicion had settled between his brows subtly.

"He could not," Fandral returned. "Rather my dearest Thor, this virtuous lady is no more virtuous than you or I. In fact, she makes our Lady Sif look like a blushing maiden in wedding whites!"

"How dare you accuse me, Fandral the Dashing," Sigyn retorted shrilly as the color rushed to her cheeks.

"How dare I accuse you? Mayhap you've forgotten the younger prince pressing against your bosom like a starved babe; although his tongue was contained to his foolish mouth." He snarled. "Oh yes, Lady Sigyn, your virtue is still intact!"

He was vilified by the shamed noise that erupted from her throat; it was music to hears, as the call of war, the death throes of a worthy opponent, and the way in which Loki once laughed in earnest. Thor leveled him with a stern eye, one that would have made lesser men quiver in their boots; but he only smiled as if to pronounce his victory.

"You awful man," Sigyn wailed amid the many noises that ran from her lips.

"And you an awful woman," he shot back with a larger grin. "No less criminally responsible for the liesmith's escape!"

"Fandral, we do not know this," Thor tried for diplomacy, despite what appeared his own growing suspicions. "And to accuse Lady Sigyn of uncouth behavior with my brother is serious indeed."

"I do not accuse the lady of uncouth behavior, I know of it," Fandral pointed at her, causing her to wither under his attention. "It was only a fortnight ago that I witnessed such a travesty. And you and I know your brother isn't a blushing maiden either!"

"Does he speak the truth?" Thor looked to Sigyn, whose color only gone darker with humiliation. "Have you purposely aided in my brother's escape?"

There was an unsettling silence that befell the room; despite the crystal-clear indication that she was guilty of the charge, Sigyn shook her head violently. But that didn't help her case; Fandral could see that Thor had reached judgment already, if only helped by the revelation in which Fandral felt the need to share.

An angry noise thundered in Thor's throat, before his hand went to Mj _ö_ lnir that was saddled at his side. With booming steps and the bellowing of his cape, the elder prince stormed out of the room, roaring for the guards to handle the situation properly until the All-Father had his say.

The horror that painted Sigyn's face was genuine; while Fandral's claims were brittle at best, having Thor believe them was beyond sufficient. The All-Father was bound to cave under any insistence on Thor's behalf, therefore there was good reason for Sigyn to throw herself onto the bed with a terrible wail, and one intermingled with curses against his name.

"Milady, I beg of you," Fandral said slowly, as he spun on his heel to follow the enraged elder prince. "Leave your curses to yourself, if not the liesmith who knew of your weaknesses, and therefore took full advantage of them. Because as you should know, now that the fog of fantasy lessens, that Loki has never once felt love for you; nor has he felt it towards another either. You've been hoodwinked, my dear; but you shall have time to reflect upon it, mayhap for centuries."

With deep satisfaction, Fandral left the room and the wails that were slowly covered by the sound of the royal guards descending on that poor wretched creature. But there were pressing matters to attend to, the greatest being Loki's disappearance; now that the younger prince was free of his bonds, he could use magic and could hide from Heimdall's all-seeing eyes.

"If I were a trickster, where amongst the nine realms would I hide?" Fandral uttered, but could think of no place that would have Loki; not now anyway. "I vow that I will find you, liesmith; that is a promise."


End file.
